


No Place Like Home

by ParadoxR



Series: Hit the Sky [4]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Male Bonding, Pre-Relationship, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-19
Updated: 2014-10-19
Packaged: 2018-02-21 18:16:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2477810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParadoxR/pseuds/ParadoxR
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>You expected DC to let a recently suicidal retiree anywhere near an existential threat to the entire planet?</em> Yeah, well. No.</p><p>Jack's forced into retirement after CotG. (It's temporary.) Standalone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Good-Deed-Doers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [steadfast](https://archiveofourown.org/users/steadfast/gifts).



> This is set during the fic “Home Court”, but it’s happy to stand alone. Jack is retiring again after CotG (technically my version, “52nd Hour”). 
> 
> Rated for some cursing. Also, Jack’s pretty raw. This series does end up canon compliant, I promise. References are _Wizard of Oz_. Thank you to bethanyactually for the beta!

“Alright, I have exactly fifty-seven minutes.” Lou yanks a chair out too quickly and stretches his bad leg under their corner table.

Charlie sets down the bags and tosses him a menu. “On a tight leash there, kid?”

“Yes, Charlie, it’s totally crazy that my wife wants me back on the correct continent. After we’re late. Again.”

“ ‘Again.’ ”

“She’s starting to think you’re bad luck.”

“Smart lady.” It’s by far the best reason anyone holds a grudge against him from 1992. “What’s she still doing with you?”

Lou kicks at him. “Says the guy that’s been divorced how many times.”

“Three.” Charlie reports with a swing of his menu. _Because I’m an emotionally shortchanged bastard._

Jack stops at the head of their table. “You can both leave now if you’d rather.” Which is their former boss’s way of saying, ‘Stop hitting each other _right now_. And let me sit down.’

“Aw. Good working with you again too, boss.” Lou takes the gift out of his pack. He considers just throwing it at him, but Jack could still give his ass a run for its money even on a good day. “Here.”

Jack blinks down at the brown paper box and leans on the chair next to him. _Wow._ He honestly wasn’t expecting that. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, just remember retiring _again_ doesn’t get you another one.” Lou sets down. It’s actually the gift he bought for the first time, but there was nothing even close to a party back then.

“Here.” Charlie offers his own with almost identically feigned affront.

Jack straightens up and feels the mask close in around him. _This is it._ He finally hit the end of his line. Permanently unfit for duty, and DC is finally out of missions for their least favorite psychiatric failures. “Thanks, guys.” It’s almost emotional.

He takes it from Charlie. This one isn’t wrapped at all, and it’s heavy. A framed shadow box. Jack has no desire whatsoever to turn it over. Medals are crystallized bad memories; there’s a reason he doesn’t wear many of them. And he’s got no one to impress now the way he needed to in formal office spaces.

He turns it over.

And snorts.

A Triple Cross, a testimonial, and a diploma. Universita E Pluribus Unum – Doctor of Thinkology.

Charlie has the decency to set it face-down on the booth. Jack takes Lou’s box and tries to act like a kid at Christmas while forgetting the analogy.

Jack does have good friends, though. He’s not sure what to do with a Simpsons Military Antique Shop diorama, but he’s got pretty good friends. Too bad they’re about to be flung back to the corners of the Earth again.


	2. Legion of Courage

Charlie watches Jack’s mask shake. He’s definitely gotten stronger than before Abydos—before Skaara. Watching his banishment again is almost harder. _You expected DC to let a recently suicidal retiree anywhere near an existential threat to the entire planet?_ Yeah, well. No.

Jack settles into the chair next to Lou. _They’re fretting over you. Again._ He probably needs it.

“Can I start you gentlemen off with something to drink?”

“Waters all around.” To their credit, the majors don’t grimace _at_ Jack. Why do they come to bars when they’re on analgesics, anyway?

“Sure, sir, I’ll be right back with those.”

 _‘Sir’._ He’s not sure how he feels about that now. Jack reads his menu and addresses Charlie with full nonchalance. “When’s your flight?”

Charlie glances up in mock surprise. “Sick of me already, boss?”

“Even Jack can only hide that feeling for so long.”

Charlie snorts. “Well, you’re shit outta luck. I’m on ice until Hammond gets back from DC.” _I left you alone a year ago._ He’s happy not to make that mistake a third time.

Jack nods, masking his surprise. They’re considering Charlie for a squadron command. _Of course they are, you estranged idiot._ He’s ready. The man’s the best damn ops director in the 720th.

“You’d be staying on?” Lou grimaces with not a little envy.

“Maybe.” Charlie shrugs casually. He already misses leading teams in the field, and if Hammond’s noncommittal maybe was any indication, they might need majors out there for a while. “Needs of the Air Force, ya know.”

Lou closes his menu. “Too bad it’s not my specialty.” Granted, it’s not really anyone’s, but there are closer guys. “Or yours.” And they both spent too many years in training to underestimate how important that is.

Charlie just nods. He wouldn’t be his own first pick either. Jack would explain how everything about it’s political, but Charlie’s willing to just focus on keeping good men alive.

“I told Hammond to call in Zet.” Jack answers the unstated objection.

“ ‘Zet?’ ” Lou repeats. How do colonels know _everyone_?

“Colonel Zetterholm.” Charlie nods to the waitress and the water glass. “Just got done commanding the Army Special Forces Group in Africa. Has a thing for coordinating diverse areas of interest.” Because, you know, Special Forces in Africa.

Lou nods, more relieved than impressed. “Good fit.”

 _Hell yeah._ Jack votes for the colonel who led two thousand guys through everything from the Algerian elections to the Tuareg rebellion and the Somali Civil War. The Stargate’s got a bad record with flyboy major generals.

“Sure.” Charlie grins too widely. “And where da ya think he’ll put Sam?”

 _Ugh._ “I’m sure Captain Carter will be just fine.” Jack doesn’t react to the ensuing snorts. “She makes a heck of a first impression.”

Charlie smirks.

 _That’s not what I meant._ Bastard. “I think Zet likes abrasive.” _Apparently so do you._

“ ‘Abrasive’?” Charlie cocks an eyebrow at him.

“Told ya he wants to arm wrestle.” Lou stops just shy of ribbing his former boss.

 _Leave me alone._ Goddamnit, the woman _is_ abrasive. On base. He’ll give it to her, she shuts up and listens off-world—terrible in command training, but a rare jewel in a scientist. But on base. _Where you’ve seen her for, what, four hours?_ Not that he’s interested in more of her forceful streak. At all.

“My favorite was ‘I like women’.” Charlie’s suddenly glad Jack didn’t sit next to him.

 _No, you deserved that one._ “I’m sure Zet will enjoy the feminist jabs.”

“Maybe Colonel Zet won’t publicly question a two-star general’s assignment of her before she walks in the door.” Charlie levels a look at Jack. Because what good are 2ICs if they don’t tell you when you’re wrong? In _private_.

Ok, he also deserved that one. _Deserved? Next time just say ‘I don’t know who you’re talking about, General, but it’s not like a decades-long project would’ve bothered to train anyone I can use’._

“Come on, we didn’t know she heard that.” Ohh, but she heard that. And Lou is seriously hoping he’ll see the arm wrestling.

Charlie eyes the younger major. Not the point. “ _Samuels_ heard that.” Hell, six subordinates heard that. Forget Sam, Hammond must’ve kicked Jack’s ass.

“Samuels is a prick.” Lou spins his glass.

“No, Lou, _I_ am a prick.” Charlie grabs the glass. “Samuels is a sniveling jerk.” A sniveling jerk who must’ve enjoyed relaying how their colonel elected to underminethe new two-star rather than vet the top representative of Project Giza. “And _you_ know better.” He turns back to Jack.

Jack takes the private rebuke. _Who taught him to be so forthright, anyway?_ Oh, yeah.


	3. Galvanized Friends

Charlie’s candor morphs back into its permanent humor. “So where is Supergirl, anyway?”

“ _Supergirl?_ ” It’s a genuine glare. _Have some respect, Major._

“Wonder Woman?”

“I vote Wonder Woman.” Lou leans away from the unamused man next to him. “What? She always wins.”

“Supergirl is so much cooler.” Charlie retorts with exactly zero clue what he’s talking about. _Which one’s Lynda Carter?_

“No way—”

“ENOUGH!” It earns Jack a couple looks, but he doesn’t care. Jack O’Neill doesn’t repeat mistakes, and she is not walking in on that.

Charlie levels his tone willingly. “Jack, you’re the only one here who thinks acknowledging her badassery and overwhelming hotness has some kind of effect on her IQ.”

“Hey, I said nothing about attractiveness.” Lou fingers the locket around his neck. Forty-one minutes. And then like fifteen hours of flying.

“Nothing to talk about.” Jack drops his gaze to the menu.

Even Lou snorts. “Jack, I said I was mute on the subject, not blind.”

“He’s taken to pretending she’s too young for him.” Charlie informs Lou over the rim of his glass.

“She is not too young for me.” Jack is, however, an idiot. _A graying, overly sensitive idiot who just actually fell for that._ The salmon sounds good.

Charlie manages to swallow smoothly. He’d been waiting for that one since they got in the car. “How old do you think she is?” He turns to Lou, content to let Jack stew silently.

“She’s twenty-eight.” Jack doesn’t look up. They are not _guessing_ her age.

“Not a chance.” Lou reacts. “The _one_ person they send here? It took them fifteen years.”

“Yes, it did.” _So maybe you can both start acting slightly older than that._

“You think she got that slot, plus high-G training and a hundred hours in the Gulf.” Lou eyes him carefully. Yeah, Jack’s definitely impressed.

“As we’ve heard.” Also read, but it reads about as remarkably. _She’s abrasive._ Abrasive, scientist, sixteen years younger than him. Abrasive. _You threw her under a bus in front of four majors and a two-star._

“And a doctorate. At twenty-eight.” Lou cocks his head in search of the other shoe.

_Salmon and sweet potatoes._ Jack’s officially done with anything that tastes like wild alien deer meat. _Yes, you are._

Lou turns to him fully. “You’re telling me the US Air Force, _our_ US Air Force, had her fly in the Gulf and then let her off active duty ops _early_ , she got her PhD, and then in a lab full of PhDs, she became the _one_ person that they send here. In six years.”

“Looks that way.” Jack flips his menu over _._ “Daniel’s got three.”

Which is also insane. But, “Daniel isn’t the one person they apparently trained for this.” Whatever that actually means. “And how do you even get eight-plus Gs and a hundred hours without a badge?”

Jack doesn’t look up. This place has a pretty good microbrew menu. “Helos. Upgrade engineer. Then ‘astronaut’ training.” He’d come back here. _Yeah, except you live in Virginia._

“Helicopters?” Lou whistles, not that there were many other options. “Upgrading what?”

“Pave Lows.” Jack elects not to scold him. Still, he expects his people to be better-read. “The old night infiltrators.”

“Special ops search and rescue. Damn.” Charlie suddenly feels more grateful.

“Oh.” Lou realizes. _Duh._ “Probably that integrated avionics bus for the APQ terrain follower.” That thing was a PITA in Sinjar.

Charlie closes his mouth. “How the hell did you get _that_?”

Lou shrugs with the self-satisfied glimmer that constantly loses him poker games in Eastern European hellholes. “She said she’s into optics.”

Jack keeps his menu open. _If by ‘into optics’ she meant ‘got my masters from Brown’_ and _‘my PhD is in electromagnetic stabilization and conveyance in Lorentzian wormholes’_. Or in whatever order those words belong. _Are you ready to stop talking about her now?_

“She see any action?” Charlie spins his empty water glass nonchalantly.

“Once.” Doubtful she’d be here otherwise. That’d given him a little more respect for Hammond.

“Yeah?” _In what?_

“Yeah.” _Don’t ask her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam’s personal Pave Low contributions are fictitious. (Also exceptional, because, you know, SG-1.)


	4. Mediocre Commodity

“Are you gentlemen ready to order?”

 _Finally._ Jack finds a smile for their waitress.

“Chef’s special, please, though I think we’re expecting two more.” Charlie hands over his menu and reexamines the beer list.

“One more. Sweet potatoes and the catch of the day.” Jack keeps the smile on.

“Chili and a house salad. Whenever it’s ready.” Lou glances back at his watch.

“Anything more to drink?”

“Just the waters.” Jack answers. The guys nod. They’re mostly beer and water people after missions like this.

“I’ll be right back with more for all four of those.”

Jack taps his empty glass and doesn’t look at the door. He sees everything in the reflection anyway. _Where is she?_

“Who’s not coming?” Charlie directs into Jack’s glass.

“Daniel.”

“Sam.”

 _She’s not?_ Jack can’t figure out what the nonchalant response to that is.

“No Batgirl?” Charlie prods.

Jack doesn’t bite.

“You know, Batgirl. Air, land. Superhero.” _Damn, you really pissed him off._ Either that or Jack really wants to see her this weekend. Charlie’s leaning towards the latter.

“She’s not land qualified.” Hell, she’s not air qualified. One stunt does not a soldier make. Just ask Jack’s first CO. And second. Also third.

“Ok, where is Captain-Doctor Carter rather than in our charming company?”

“Working.” Lou drops the quote fingers. Lord knows how that woman ever obeyed pre-mission rest regulations.

Jack nurses his empty glass. _You did order her to sleep. _Pretty lame last order on his part, even without doing it _in front_ of her sergeant. _She probably thinks you’re an irreverent bastard._ Better sooner than later.

“No Daniel either?”

“Said he needs the rest.” Which Jack had assumed was linguist-speak for ‘I can’t say goodbye again, and I’m not sleeping until I find her’. He’d sicced Doc Fraiser on him. _Which wasn’t enough._

“Poor guy.” Sha’re and Skaara are half the reason Charlie wants to stay this time.

Jack sets down his glass. _You have to do more._ Only, he’s out because he _can’t_ do more.

_You killed your son._


	5. It Ticks

_You killed your son._

Jack swallows deliberately. It still sneaks up on him sometimes. _Still? Why the hell weren’t you thinking about him?_

Lou drums on the table. “So, what’re you two gonna do without me this weekend?” _Earth to Jack O’Neill._

“I think we’ll survive.” Charlie rolls his eyes deliberately. _Right, Jack?_

“Yep.” That’s his limit. Sit in an office, then sit on a roof. At least he finally got out of that damned apartment he fell into when Sara left. _Sara left._

Lou rolls his eyes right back. “Doing what?”

 _Sara left. _“Request for Force Capabilities.” Sometimes, at work, Jack can rationalize not thinking about him. _Yeah, too bad you don’t have a job. _He needs one. And he still can’t get one, despite DC being by far the best place to look.

“Good times.” Lou grimaces theatrically.

“You betcha.” _Work._ It’ll take him most of the weekend to write, but only because ‘request for everybody’ won’t work. Maybe ‘all of Special Operations Command’ or at least ‘the last ten Spec Ops Long-Range Surveillance Leaders classes’. Plus war planners, technical intelligence, tactics instructors, advanced logistics. How do you ask an artillery captain if he can hit an alien fighter jet through a Stargate without actually mentioning either?

“You know, Jack,” Lou lifts his glass, “you did just get off your first four-day FUBAR in like ten years. You don’t actually have to work this weekend.”

Which of course means ‘you should work this weekend, but we’re more worried about you falling apart than about what you need to get done’. Jack imbibes his glass. _You killed your son._

“No worries, Lou.” Charlie raps on the table. _Not helping, buddy._ “Managing a good shitshow is like riding a bike. Right, boss?”

“Yeah.” Like riding a bike in the Tour de France. Pedal as hard as you want, but if you haven’t been working like the other guys have, you're not going to win. _And you need to win._

Lou sighs. “Ok, and then what?” _If that’s the case, feel free to engage in this conversation._

Snipers. Sniper positions at every Stargate. Jack wants to shudder at the number of good men who’ll die retaking lost Gates. Who the hell made those damn things unidirectional? _Talk to Captain Carter._ He's gonna have to. _Because she appears to be the only one with her head wrapped around this shit? Because it’s her job?_ Because they needed an Operation Plan yesterday. _No, you needed it a year ago._

Lou shifts beside him slightly.

 _‘What are you doing this weekend?’_ Jack reminds himself. “Skydiving. SCUBA. Rappelling, dirt biking, whitewater kayaking.” Which would be funny, except he misses it.

Charlie grunts. Oh, to be a carefree leader of an eighteen-man combat control team again. “Well since it’s not on Jack’s list, I think I’ll hang out with his girlfriend.”

Jack seriously debates punching him.

“Seems like she knows a thing or two.” Charlie trades the joke for that serious look again.

Jack meets the pointed gaze. You make one offhand reference to a two-star general about not needing the only scientist who knows what they’re talking about, and all of a sudden everyone thinks you’re an idiot. “Clearly.”

The look immediately turns back into a smirk. “You know, Lou, you could stick around. Sounds like we’ll have some fun.” _God willing._

Lou snorts. “Charlie, I hate to break this to you, but Lucy is like three hundred times hotter than you are.”

“Huh.” He feigns contemplation. “Yeah. I guess I’m stuck with Wonder Woman.”

“ _Major._ ”

Unfortunately, that’s sounds nothing like ‘stay away from my girl’ and everything like ‘I will actually hit you’. “Sorry. Sorry.”

Jack doesn’t react.

Charlie shares a look with Lou. “Ahem. How about them capabilities requests?” Charlie will never understand Jack’s desire to be _distracted_ by _work._

Jack grunts. “Wanna help?”

 _Because there’s more than one answer to that question._ “You’ll have my After-Action and Lessons Learned tomorrow afternoon.” _What time is it?_ Damn alien twin moons. “You want to talk those and force packaging?”

Jack nods over his glass. “Ad hoc unit options.”

“You’ll have mine too.” Lou offers uncomfortably. He does smile for his salad’s arrival, though.

Jack finds a smirk. “You’re going to land in London, drive to Mildenhall, and sit in a secure office until tomorrow afternoon.”

Lou tries and fails to shrug.

“We can talk retraining pipelines later.” It’ll take Jack until Sunday to wrap his head around this anyway. _You need to sleep._

“Thanks, boss.” Though it can’t be much later. Lou does have a permanent day job, and they’re kinda busy right now.

Charlie eyes Lou’s salad until the younger man drops an olive on his coaster. It’s the first thing either of them have eaten on this planet in days.

God, that’s _weird_.

“What’s your ballpark?” Jack lets himself fidget slightly. He’s in good company.

Lou blows out a breath. “Excluding language training?” They exchange nods. “Well, you want me to say under a month, so under a month.”

Jack manages a light smile. “I meant money, Lou.” Because why not send the most highly-trained men in the US military several million lifetimes from home on a couple weeks’ preparation? Through a giant one-way bullseye whose key just happens to sit unprotected next to it. _Talk to Captain Carter. _ Didn’t he already agree to that? Mostly? _She should be here. You drove her away._

“Oh.” _Darn._ Lou still hates financial estimates. “Too much?”

Jack grunts. “I’ll write that on the ‘total’ line.” _She’ll know more._ He grimaces internally. She probably will, after two years at the Pentagon sorting out this budget. _Yeah, and she’d be done if you hadn’t nuked it._

Charlie offers a laugh at the one-liner.

 _You didn’t object to destroying something you knew absolutely nothing about._ He’ll never know what he destroyed that day. _Skaara. Sha’re._ How many Jaffa like Teal’c? _And what’ll he do when he finds out?_ How many more women and children are abducted now? _What makes you trust anything that you think anymore? _And what the hell makes him believe anyone should?

Lou looks around at the tense lull. “You know, I’ve got some leave coming up.” He offers a smile in return for his chili delivery. “I’m sure Lucy would love an excuse to see Pikes Peak.”

Charlie nods, overeager. “Rock climbing. Count me in.” He tears his eyes away from Lou’s food to study Jack.

Lou chuckles. “I think we might just hike.” He gives up and pushes the salad across the table.

Charlie ignores the bowl. Jack’s not moving.

 _Would you fucking participate in their conversation?_ “Sounds good.”

“The climbing or the hiking?”

The waitress sets their dinners down in front of them.

His salmon crackles happily. _She takes the beer bottle out of his hand. ‘Don’t even think about it, buster.’ He pouts and diligently flips over the next one. ‘Teehee, Daddy, this isn’t gonna be black like your steaks, is it?’_

“Wait, Jack!” _Crap._

Jack swings on his jacket and doesn’t push in the chair. _Where the hell are you going, Colonel? ‘Dad! You can’t leave, Coach Mike’s gonna let me pitch!’ Sit down right now, Colonel._

Kawalsky’s hand materializes on his shoulder.

 _Sit. Down. Colonel._ He almost does. _Run._ No. He blinks at his best friend. Still no tears. _You’re fine, dammit. Sit down and eat. _He needs to start being normal again. _Why?_

“Good night, Jack.” Charlie tries to keep the sadness out of his smile. “I’ll get a ride.”

Now he’s just making this too easy. Charlie’s overprotective. He’s fine.

He’s _fine._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be a branching point. A: Jack leaves, and his plot will eventually continue in part 13 of “Hit the Sky”. B: The “E Pluribus Unum” sub-series, which is shippier, but won’t quite line up with the next few fics in “Hit the Sky.”


End file.
